Lover of the Light
by BenedictusCumberbatchicus
Summary: AU - Dean spent another 40 years in Hell, and became a renown torturer under Alastair. He spends his days torturing soul after soul. But this day is different. On this day, his brother arrives on his rack.
1. Boy King

**Author's Note: Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.  
AU where Dean spends 40 more years in Hell, as the angels are unable to find him.  
For the majority of the fic, Dean is known as 'Cain' (as in Cain and Abel) because I felt uncomfortable writing about Dean torturing Sam, while as Dean himself, and I don't really believe that it was Dean during his period in Hell, because 30 years of torture and then another 10 torturing can change a person completely.**

For Cain, life (or rather death) was the greatest it had ever been. He couldn't remember his life before he entered Hell, and the thirty years that he resisted the good for was still a blur.  
However, Alastair and Meg had told him of his younger brother who continued to screw up, and Dean ended up being tortured because his brother was stupid enough to die. He had been told about how his morbid life was miserable, and full of pain, until he finally gave in and joined the right side. He'd been Dean Winchester, murderer of the good and alcoholic man-whore. Now he was Cain, a skilled torturer under Alastair, and he loved every minute of it.  
He spent the beginning of the day in his chamber, curled around Alastair, until they were sent the first soul of the day. Alastair showed him how to make them scream, and rip them apart, only to put them back together again. Cain was good at this, and hell, he enjoyed it. The bloodcurdling screams sent shivers down his spine, and he grinned as they begged him to stop, which would make him only torture them more.  
However, this day was different. When Cain awoke, Alastair was missing. He wasn't at the racks, so Cain presumed he was commanding other demons, until Alastair entered their chambers, grinning maniacally. "Cain!" he yelled, pulling him into a rough kiss, "I've got a surprise for you." Cain stared, suspiciously, "What might it be?"  
"Come," Alastair guided Cain over to the racks, and showed him the soul attached to it.  
There was nothing unusual about it, other than its height, which Cain saw only as more skin to rip of it, and more blood to soak out of its veins. It was a man, bloodied and bruised, and wearing an amulet over his shirt. Cain absentmindedly clutched his own amulet, and stared at the soul's understanding that they were exactly the same. He shrugged, the amulets must be mass-produced, or perhaps they had been members of the same religion.  
Yet he couldn't shake a feeling of familiarity and love, and he hated himself for being so sentimental, and human, which was the very thing that kept him from the right side.  
The soul yelled out something Cain couldn't understand, as he stared at him. Alastair whispered, "See this wreck of a man? This is your brother, the one that made you get tortured, here on the rack for you to torture." Cain gazed at Alastair, and then at the soul, in disbelief. Abel, in Hell? No, Abel was loved by God, the favourite, yet it seemed fit, as he was both evil and manipulative.  
He understood what the soul was yelling out, in a continuous pattern, desperate and afraid. Cain's lips curled, as he picked up a knife, and Alastair smiled, "I knew you'd like him. Torture away, lover, show me all that you have learned," and stood back, to watch Cain face the soul, whose expression was full of hope. "Dean," it called out, "I'm sorry! Dean! It's me!" Dean laughed, remembering all that Alastair and Meg had told him, and shook his head. "Brother," he said simply, trying it on his tongue. It felt weird, as he hadn't called anybody that in over sixty years. Alastair had told him that he had always screamed out for his brother for the first twenty years, and that he was keeping him from joining the good side, and the _right_ side.  
The soul rattled the chains, thinking that his brother had recognised him. Cain drew the knife down his brother's shirt, and ripped it off him. He stared at the chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, despite the soul being dead. He smirked; thinking of how he would rip out his lungs, alveoli by alveoli, and then his windpipe, and imagined how his brother would gasp for breath, eventually dying at the hands of his brother, and justice would be served.  
He led the knife in a wavy pattern across his brother's waist, and tormented, "Alastair told me about you, brother. Abel, the younger brother, loved by Cain, despite being sinful and sly." He sliced the knife into his brother's ribs, and his brother cried out in pain. Cain froze on hearing his brother's screams, but shook it off for the love that was once there, so many years ago. This was what he had waited for for so many years; to torture his brother like his brother had tortured him. "I've waited so many years for this, brother," he said, mockingly, "To be able to torture you all day, and all night." Alastair, whose presence Cain had forgotten, put his arms around Cain's waist, pulling him towards him, tightly. He beamed, "I see you're enjoying your present. I love seeing you all angry and vengeful, lover. Makes me hard, seeing you like that." Cain kissed him, greedily licking the insides of his mouth, before returning to the rack. Alastair moaned in disappointment, but stopped once Cain began cutting deep into his brother's skin again. His brother shook his head, "It's okay, Dean. It's enough to see you. I've missed you so much, and I know it's not you." Cain halted, and dug the knife in deeper. "Quiet," he snapped, "I am your brother, and I am going to kill you continuously, forever."He slammed his fist onto the tools trolley in frustration, leaving a fist mark in the hard metal, a side effect of his new-found power.  
A voice sniggered from behind him, "Well, someone's having a bad day at the office." Cain turned, to see a smartly dressed middle-aged man smiling next to Alastair, smugly. Cain barked, recognising the man as Lilith's second-in-command, "What do you want?" The man gestured to Alastair, and then to the door opposite to the one leading to Alastair and Cain's chamber. The door led into the Centre Courtyard, where the highest of Hell's demons were usually found. Alastair, being the Grand Torturer, was one of these few.  
"Lilith requests Alastair presence. So if you don't mind torturing that soul, seeing as it's your job, I'd like to escort Alastair to Lilith," the demon flashed a grin at Cain, and then turned to Alastair, "Shall we?" Alastair nodded, glancing at Cain, and his brother, who was still on the racks, "Don't wait for me. Do whatever you'd like, and then you can show me what you've done later," he grinned ferociously, and added, "Lead the way, Crowley." Crowley looked at the soul on the rack, and screwed up his nose in disgust, "Well, have fun torturing Moose, Squirrel," and exited the room, followed shortly by Alastair. Cain waited until the footsteps grew faint, along the old-fashioned corridors, and then asked his brother, "What did you do to arrive here?" His brother, known to the others as Abel, sighed, remembering his regrettable actions. Cain stared, watching every single one of his moments, whether they were blinks or twitches, trying to tell what he could from the man. Alastair had told him how to read under the mask of men, to see what type of torture pained them more. He appeared more in pain now than he was when Cain was cutting him, and he made a mental note of it. Abel finally said, "There was a fight. I was drunk and grieving, and convinced that the man at the bar was possessed by a demon. I wanted to kill every single one of those sons of bitches, for you Dean, but I was seeing demons everywhere, and when I stabbed him... nothing happened. No weird flashes or eyes turning black, he just died. I knew immediately, what I had done, and I ran..."

_The barman yelled, in pain and everything stopped. Another man reached out to grab his arm, yelling coarsely, and he stared at the motionless body next to him. The other man threw a punch, and he heard his nose snap. He pushed him away, and stormed out of the bar, before he could consider what he'd just done. He was being followed, he knew, but he didn't care. He'd just killed a man. A man with a life, and a family, and perhaps a lover waiting for him at home. He'd ruined that man's family's life, because he didn't check properly. His own yearn to kill hell beasts, and his own arrogance had caused the life of a human being. He stumbled into an alley, and crouched down, head in his hands. He heard footsteps in front of him, and a ridicule voice laughed, "Well, well, well. Look what we have here," Sam knew that he'd probably get beaten into a pulp. He deserved it, for killing a man, and looked up, seeing who the voice belonged to. It was a woman, who looked to be in her mid-twenties, but her eyes glowed black, as she smirked, "Nice to finally meet you, Sammy. I've heard so much about you." Sam sighed, acknowledging how ironic it was that a demon would be the one to kill him. If that was to happen, anyway. Nobody had told him why Lilith had been unable to kill him when Dean had gone to Hell.  
Dean was still in Hell.  
That was his one regret: that Dean had gone to Hell. He was getting tortured for eternity, only for Sam to be tortured as well.  
The demon grinned, "Aren't you gonna say hello, Sammy. Didn't your mommy ever teach you any good manners? Oh wait..." she smiled smugly, and Sam grunted, "Just kill me, okay?" The demon stuck out her bottom lip, jeering at him, "Aww. Is wittle Sammy uwpset?" she pulled a knife out of her jacket, "But don't worry. It'll be over soon. You've already earned an eternity or two of torture," she leered, stroking his face with the knife, cutting his cheeks slightly, "I might give them a hand when you're down there. So, buried or cremated?" Sam fumed, tempting taking the knife from her, but she sneered, "Fine, Sammy. I'll end it for you. Oh, and before you go, say hi to your brother for me. I hear he's one of the best torturers Hell has to offer, but I guess you'll find out. Oh, and he's taking it up the ass, too." Sam shook his head, annoyed at the demon for feeling the need to add a quip or two, just like every other demon he'd faced. Must have been a demon-ego thing. Well, he was sure to find out.  
The knife plunged into his brain, and he felt his body shut down._

Cain wanted to congratulate Abel on what a great actor he was, but there was something in him that told him he was telling the truth. Disappointment, maybe, mixed with a whole load of _it's not your fault, Sammy_ which didn't make sense to Cain at all. He knew that his brother was manipulating him, using his petty sentimental feelings against him. He picked up his knife, and sliced another cut into Abel's chest. "Did I ever tell you that you're a great actor? I want to truth, not some cliché, 'oh poor me' sob story." Abel shook his head, and closed his eyes, wincing slightly at the cut, though he had suffered much worse. "It's the truth, Dean. I know you're in there, somewhere, and you believe me." Cain stabbed into Abel's stomach, angrily, and watched as the blood oozed out, hoping it would brighten his mood. Instead, it only made it worse. The sentimental Cain, the one with the weak feelings of love and hope, hidden away deep inside the dominant Cain was returning, slowly, and Cain struggled to keep him at bay. He retreated, turning away from his brother, and the real Cain, the human Dean Winchester, took control (albeit for only a few seconds) opening his mouth, stammering, "Sammy?"  
Sam's face lightened immediately, as he yelled, "Dean!" Cain regained control and plunged the knife back into Sam's stomach. Sam yelped, but lost no hope, to Cain's dissatisfaction, by saying, "Dean! It's okay! I'm here!" Cain pierced the knife into Abel's throat, silencing him, as he twisted it into his vocal chords. "Quiet," he bellowed, "I am Cain, and you are Abel!" he repetitively plunged the knife into Abel's body, continuing even when Abel was still. "I am Cain, and you are Abel!" he echoed, throwing the knife across the room. He shook as he covered his hands, echoing his words, curling up into a ball, on the cold, hard, concrete floor, still as the body on the racks next to him.


	2. Awakening

"Cain?" a voice called out. It was a familiar voice, though Dean could not place it. He opened his eyes, and realised he was on the floor, though he was unaware of how he had arrived there. There were footsteps heading towards him, and he looked up, seeing the owner of the voice, and memory flooded back into his mind. "Alastair," he croaked; his voice sore and hoarse, as if it had not been used for many years. Alastair sighed, "Cain; I was worried Abel had gotten the better of you." Dean paused, realising that Alastair thought he was the cold-hearted murdered that was before him, the demon that he had turned into. He faked a grin, "He never would," though he hated how Alastair called Sam 'Abel,' because he would never murder him, whatever the reason, even if it meant the apocalypse, even if he had become the demon he was destined to become.

Alastair smirked in return, "Show me how you tortured him. You've grown sloppier, by the look of it," he glanced at the body on the rack. Dean stood up hurriedly, and stared open-mouthed at his brother's broken body, with stab wounds scattered all around it. He did that.

He could not remember any of it. The last thing he could remember was the slash of a knife, as he regrettably cut into a woman's skin. He was then pushed back into the darkness, as is possessed, and slept. When he awoke, he saw glimpses of Sam, but his body was being controlled by something else that was not him. He fought it, for what felt like hours, and then it let go, and he saw his brother's face - full of fear, yet full of hope. He went to tell him that he was back, that he was not the demon from before, but then the demon took one last blow, and he had faded back into darkness. He then woke up, curled up on the ground. However, that was no excuse to what he had done, for killing his brother. It may have not been him, but it was still him - he was the monster, and the evil came from him. And he'd not just killed his brother; he'd ripped him to shreds. He'd become a cruel and aggressive creature, and deserved to be in the company of Alastair for the rest of eternity, because he'd become Cain, and Sam became Abel.

Alastair watched him suspiciously, and then touched Sam's arm, and Sam awoke with a gasp. "Dean!" Sam yelled, and it took everything in him to yell back, to tell him everything would be fine, and that he would get Sam out of there, no matter what. Instead, he stood in silence, his hand slowly heading towards a knife on the trolley besides him. Alastair pressured, "Go on. Show me." Dean grasped the knife, and threw it to one door, deciding, "No. Not today." Alastair pouted, "Fine. Perhaps another time. I have another surprise, anyway." Dean sighed, considering who it might be. Bobby? Ellen? Jo? His dad? Names filled his head, names of fellow hunters, names of people he'd saved, and names he hadn't. Alastair gawked, and finally said, "Unfortunately, old replacement daddy is still alive. Although, I can't _wait_ until I finally get to meet him," Dean breathed a sigh of relief, "But we've got one of your rescuers." Dean halted. One of his rescuers? What the fuck did that mean? He didn't _need_ to be saved. He'd sold his soul, like hundreds of others, and they'd never been saved. If anything, he should be kept on the rack forever. "Rescuers?" Dean asked, cautiously, and Alastair beamed with pride, "Morons, they were. I've got one of them, for you to torture. You'd never leave, would you?" the last sentence was drawled out, as if Alastair was testing Dean, to see if he really was still Cain, and Dean shook his head, "Never." Alastair leered, clicking his fingers. Dean's heart stopped for a moment when Sam disappeared, and he knew that he was going to get tortured by another demon.  
Sam's body was replaced by a human-like figure. The figure was made of light, aside from its arms, which were bizarrely human. It had various patches of flesh of it, as if it was slowly becoming human. It was made of a yellowish light, which was so bright it made Dean squint.  
It didn't shake the chains like other souls did, though this soul looked as if it had been tortured until it was barely anything. It was calm, despite the situation, and Dean gazed at it, analytically. Alastair chuckled, slowly, "Look at it. Ugliest thing I've seen and I've seen some shit. It's so... bright. It thought it was able to defeat us, the stuck-up prick." Dean asked, nervously, "What happened to it?" He wonders whether it was once a human, and what it did to deserve such a high punishment. Was rescuing him enough to bring about the consequences of being tortured so much that it was barely human?  
"It's not human, if that's what you're wondering," Alastair laughed. If anything, it made Dean more confused. For starters, he hunted the non-human. He'd done so his whole life. He didn't deserve to be saved by humans, never mind whatever the fuck the thing on the rack was. Alastair slipped his hands around Dean's waist, and Dean froze momentarily, afraid of any move Alastair would make. Alastair snickered, "You're so tense, lover. Shall we relieve some of that tension?" Dean paused, feeling Alastair's breath on his neck. "Alastair," he said, anxiously. Alastair stepped away, sneering, "Maybe later." Dean breathed a sigh of relief, stepping forward, trying not to let Alastair see the relief on his face. Alastair slowly walked around the rack, until he was on the opposite side to Dean. Dean strained, considering all the excuses that would get him out of torture whatever the hell it was that had tried to rescue him.  
"_I'm an angel of the Lord_," a voice rang out in his head, low and not quite human. Dean paused, holding his breath, looking at Alastair, who seemed to not have noticed that something was speaking. He was staring at the creature; whose head-light-whatever-the-hell-it-was was tilted so that, if it had eyes, it would be looking at him. The voice spoke again, slower, "_Don't be afraid_." Dean nearly laughed expecting it to say, "I come in peace," or something cliché like that. It felt like the beginning of one of those aliens-meet-human movies anyway. "_Is it important that I say that I come in peace_?" Dean swore under his breath, realising that his creature - angel? Should he believe that? - could read his mind, too. "If you're an angel, why are you still here? Can't you mojo yourself up?" he thought, hoping the 'angel' would hear him. It replied, "_Everything has its weakness. Angels are no different, and the fallen are eager to tell the demons of them._" Dean considered this, and noticed that Alastair was watching him. He smiled at Alastair, though it frustrated him to great lengths when he smiled back his bitter, callous smile. He wanted to kill that bastard, but he knew it was the only way to get out of here. "I'm not sure where to start," Dean said, using the first excuse that came to his head. Alastair chuckled; walking back around to the side Dean was on. He smirked, "Well; I've got an idea. Why don't we let Meg torture our little rescuer, and entertain ourselves?" He pulled Dean into a rough kiss. It tasted of blood and dirt, and Dean kissed back, knowing he had no other choice; Alastair would suspect something if he refused his proposal again.  
Alastair broke away, leering at him, "Forever the righteous man." Dean gawked, "What?" Alastair grabbed onto his wrist slowly twisting it, and suddenly the angel was gone, and Dean was on the rack. Alastair laughed, seeing the fear in Dean's eyes as realisation dawned on Dean. He let go, and Dean was facing him again, besides the rack. "Perhaps your brother won't be resurrected for a while." Dean gaped in confusion, and Alastair clarified, "Lilith and I had a little chat. It turns out, your brother has been commanded to live by Lucifer himself. Even the _Devil_ doesn't want him." Dean shook his head, rattling his brains for any reason that Lucifer would want Sam to live. Azazel had wanted Sam to lead the army of demons, but then, surely, wouldn't he want to teach him all things demonic in Hell? Alastair's lips curled, and turned him to face the rack. Sam lay there, as bruised and bloodied as before. He stared at Dean, but didn't say anything, but his eyes said all his mouth needed to say. They filled with disappointment and pain, and it broke Dean's heart, "What did you do?" Dean asked, his voice shaking. Alastair shrugged, glancing at Sam, and then back at Dean, "Meg's been itching to get her hands on Sam for a while." Of course: Meg. Dean had been wanting to gank that bitch since he met in Chicago, and especially after she'd abducted his dad, and then possessed Sam. "You fucking touch him, I'll kill you," Dean snapped, and Alastair held out a knife, "Well, somebody's regained their strength. Only right, after fifty years." Fifty years? Dean had been torturing people for fifty years? He was a monster. All those people. Who knew what Alastair had made him do? "Well, why don't you start? We've got other souls to torture. You'll like who I've got in mind." Dean swore that when he killed Alastair, he'd put him on the racks for a while. He hated that son of a bitch, more than anything he'd even hunted; more than Azazel. He wanted him to torture his brother. The monster inside him, buried under layers of restored humanity, cheered at the thought of it, and he felt sick.  
Alastair handed him a knife, eagerly. It wasn't anything special, but he knew immediately that it was the first one he'd used in Hell. Dean took it, and aimed it at Alastair, "Let my brother go. You can have me, but not him." Sam's eyes widened in disbelief, and he shook against the chains, as he yelled out, "Dean!" Alastair laughed, shaking his head in disappointment, "Really, Dean. Do you think that could hurt me? I'm a demon. Hell's Grand Torturer. Nothing you have can cause me any pain." Dean refused to believe him, and thrust the knife at Alastair, who made it fly out of his hands, in one lazy movement. Dean picked up the axe, and hacked at one of the chains, while Alastair watched. He knew his attempts were useless, and that the chains were unbreakable, but he had to try or Sam would pay the price.  
Alastair murmured something into his ear, in a language Dean didn't understand and Dean was paralysed. He tried to move, but there was a force stopping him from doing so. The demon was still buried inside him, and had not returned to the surface, and he realised that Alastair was going to make him torture Sam, no matter what. He could still see, after all, and he tried to fight the force, as it took the knife from Alastair's hand. It was stronger than many spells witches had cast on him over the years, and felt like a ton of bricks, pulling Dean down. The force slowly cut into Sam's wrist, so deep that it cut through the muscle, as he cried out for Dean, and made Dean even more determined to stop it. He pushed against the force with all the strength he could manifest, driven by Sam's pain and his yearning to protect him, to make it stop. Twenty-four years of nothing but taking care of Sam had made it into his job, and his purpose, and Dean was nothing without purpose.  
He fought hard; remember fond memories of Sam, from drinking beers after completing a case, to carving their initials into the Impala when they were children.  
And then, in the darkness of Hell, there was light.


End file.
